UC-NRLF 


pP  S 
3523 
O46 
Z669 
1918z 
BANG 


111    lib 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


Ilollingcr  Corp. 
pll  8.5 


in  Jark 


4H ay  &. 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

THE  PETER  AND  ROSELL  HARVEY 

MEMORIAL  FUND 


Citwa  to  Jark  IConbnn 


How  sad  the  Valley  of  the  Moon  must  seem, 

Since  the  glow  of  your  genius  is  fled  ! 
I  look  to  where  its  hilltops  amesthyne 

Smile  down  upon  the  Valley  —  you  are  dead  ! 
Broken,  alas  !  our  minstrel  lyre's  deep  pow'r 

And  lost  that  living  gold,  —  that  vibrant  wire. 
Men  call'd  —  your  genius  thrilled  along  the  chord 

In  deep,  warm  tones  of  inspirative  fire, 
And  claim  'd  its  harmony  for  Life's  brave  song. 

It  seems  as  if  some  rare,  exquisite  dream 
Were  banish  'd  by  gray  Dawn's  opening  door. 

Must  we  look  on  the  world,  now  that  you  seem 
Forever  lost  —  the  silence  where  you  sang? 

It  seems  so  strange,  God's  sunlight  on  the  hills, 
And  in  your  vale  the  shadow  of  a  cloud. 

Once  but  a  vale,  a-song  with  laughing  rills, 
And  the  low  blue  hills  lay  between  us  ;  —  now 

To  reach  you  I  must  span  Eternity. 


Oh,  singer  of  my  loved  valley, 

Bold  sailor  of  the  gray-green  sea, 

I  think  my  soul  hears  you  singing  through 
The  star-depth  of  God's  mystery. 


in 

Sonoma,  Spanish  rose  of  history, 

In  changing  beauty  stretching  to  the  sea : 

Within  thy  vale,  whose  guarding  foothills  seem 
To  hide  the  splendor  of  some  vanished  dream, 

Lingers  a  spell  that  haunts  the  heart  of  me. 

Deep  shadows  falter  in  that  heart  of  thine, 

And  all  thy  golden  valley  seems  a  shrine 

To  him  we  lost :  beside  our  London's  tomb, 
Thy  flowers  spread  the  glory  of  their  bloom; 

Here  sunlight  chalices  its  amber  wine; 

And  all  fair  things,  obedient  to  thee, 
Now  honor  him  forever  lost  to  thee, 

But  by  love's  recompense  still  seeming  thine; 

The  robe  he  wore  this  Hour  E'er  the  Divine 
Is  clasp 'd  in  thy  bronze  heart's  deep  memory. 

Thy  gentle  winters  veil  his  tomb  with  mist: 

An  ocean's  gift  —  (as  friend  with  friend  keeps  tryst) 

Thy  clouds  draw  near,  a  vestal  argosy, 

To  do  him  honor  through  the  azure  day, 
Floating  in  beauty  past  the  heights  sunkist, 

And  when  the  west  is  red  with  sunset  flame, 
Their  rose  and  purple  bring  his  dearest  fame. 
Bronze  hills  are  his  eternal  monument, 
Unveiled  where  the  morning-mists  are  rent 
By  swords  of  gold,  their  glory  speaks  his  name. 

He  sang  thy  earth  wih  genius-magic's  breath, 
So  now  thou  liftest  him  near  heav'n,  in  death 

And  ev'ry  eye  beholds  thy  love  of  him. 

Oh,  heart  of  Faith,  we  kneel,  with  eyes  tear-dim 
With  sorrow,  at  thy  shrine  to  mourn  his  death 

Find  benediction  in  a  vale  which  gives 

Eternal  honor  to  a  life  that  lives 

Forever  near  the  heart-strings  of  the  strong 
Through  his  Life's  courage,  and  his  brave  Life-song. 

So  have  we  Faith,  knowing  his  soul  still  lives. 


75 


• 


Hollinger  Cc 
pH8.5 


Hollinger  Corp. 
pH8.5 


